


Je Ne Regrette Rien

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Paris (City), Pre-Inception, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13850364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: Originally posted on Fanfiction.net. "Do you remember when you asked me to marry you? You said you dreamt that we'd grow old together." Dom wakes from his dream. Before the events of Inception. A little something implied, but not enough to warrant a higher rating.





	Je Ne Regrette Rien

_Do you remember when you asked me to marry you? You said you dreamt that we’d grow old together._

Dom rubbed his toes in a line across the sheet. He took a deep breath in through his nose as he stretched his shoulders back into the mattress. He exhaled, then flopped his heavy head towards the light; towards her. Before opening his eyes, he stretched out with his fingers, skating them across the cotton, not wanting to startle her with a sudden jab. Approaching her with care and intention. He found the soft warm skin of her arm and pressed his fingers up against it, pressed until his palm was resting against it, open and shaped to her limb.

Mal slept with her arms flat, down at her sides, palms to the mattress. She slept with her knees bent, her feet parallel to his body. Her face pointing straight up—she joked that she liked to watch the stars go by while she slept—or sometimes tilted towards him. Her whole body angled away, but her face tilted towards him. Tilted back, like she was making sure he was keeping up with her. Catching up. Not far behind. Or looking back for the last time. Saying goodbye with her sleeping face before those sleeping feet on those 90° knees kicked out at him, those mattress-pressed palms propelling her up and away.

Dom opened his eyes enough to see the pale grey sheets through his lashes, then a little wider. Mal’s golden shoulder stroked by the early morning light. Wider. The flipping chestnut ends of her hair, curled up in her sleep like fern fronds. He nudged his face up the pillow and looked for hers. Today it was tilted almost all the way towards him, keeping some last secret or waiting to reveal one. Having seen what was ahead, maybe looking back for him. Wanting to share his reaction. Just around this next corner, her soft, closed eyes said. Her mouth looking like she might speak. How lovely.

The window just behind the head of their bed. But he didn’t need to turn to see. The view was perfect as every view out every window is perfect when you’re young and it’s Paris and for the first few moments after you wake you can’t remember whether it’s summer or spring. And when the light is somehow cool though the sun is so, so yellow. And you feel the peace of the morning before coffee and the cold tiled floor and before the birds have gathered in their feathered orchestras outside the window or along the neighbour’s drainpipe or your clothesline with the shirt you forgot to pull in yesterday evening because the sun then—oh! the sun!—had been going down a hot ball on a violet velvet cloud. Though you didn’t really look then either. It was only when Mal had said, Oh, Dom, the sun! and you opened your eyes long enough to see it reflected in hers, then went back to her mouth with yours while your hand felt for the strap on her shoulder.

Mal, he said. The sun draped itself along the curve of her cheek. Mal, he said, mon ange. My doll. Her eyes opened, tired and kind. Mal, he said, Mal, my love. She put her hand to his face, the tip of her thumb to the corner of his earnest mouth. Dom, she said, tell me what you dreamed. I can see it waiting behind your eyes.


End file.
